


Yours, Bucky

by stevergrsno (noxlunate)



Series: Happy Steve Bingo Fills [15]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Returns, Epistolary, Happy Steve Bingo, Love Letters, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 13:43:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16388792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlunate/pseuds/stevergrsno
Summary: Natasha joins Steve on the couch and proceeds to squeeze her way right into Steve’s space so that she can read the letter. “Love letters, Rogers? Y’know, despite the whole star crossed lovers thing I didn’t expect you two to be so damn romantic.”“Why? Because we’re from the 40s?”“No, because you would literally rather jump out of a plane without a parachute than talk about your love life. Believe it or not, it’s possible people might make assumptions based on that kind of behavior.”“Speaking of, do you see any planes around so that I can get out of this conversation?”In which Bucky doesn't come back right away, but that doesn't stop him from leaving Steve love letters.





	Yours, Bucky

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you thetessie on tumblr for suggesting I do "Love Notes In Odd Places" next for my bingo card!! Here that is!

Three months after the helicarriers come down and Bucky drags Steve out of the Potomac Steve finds the first one.

It’s a crumpled up piece of paper, ripped at the edge from where it’d been pulled out of a notebook and sitting in the microwave of Steve’s hotel room.

He smooths it out carefully, traces the lines of text with reverent fingers and almost doesn’t read it. There’s a part of him, a desperate, longing part that says this is the first time Bucky’s talking to him in decades and he wants to savor it.

The part that’s been frantically searching for him since the moment he got out of the hospital in DC wins out and he lets his hungry gaze fall on the words there.

 

~~_Sweetheart,_ ~~

~~_Rogers,_ ~~

~~_Stevie,_ ~~

_Steve,_

_Go the fuck home._

_Keep your eyes on the damn page. don’t go throwin this thing away before you’ve even read it just because you’re in a huff about me tellin you what to do. I still don’t remember jack shit, but I remember you in a huff._

_You gotta stop chasing after me Stevie. You know I spent the last seven odd decades as an assassin right? Sure, there was some definite brainwashing involved but you ain’t gonna find me if I don’t want to be found and you know that. And for right now_

_For right now I’ve gotta do some shit on my own._

_That ugly mug of yours mighta broke some of the best programming the evilest sons of bitches in this world could come up with but I’m not sure what all is left in there. I can’t_

_Look, if there’s something still in me that could hurt someone that could hurt_ _you._ _Then I’ve gotta make sure it’s outa me. I can’t walk around thinking I might be a loaded gun with no idea where the trigger even fucking is._

_Just let me figure that out okay? You know I’ll come find you when I’m ready._

~~_I love you_ ~~

_Fuck it, I love you._

_Yours,_

_Bucky_

Steve stands there for a long time, reading and rereading the first words Bucky’s said to him since he damn near killed him in DC. The first words _Bucky’s_ really said to him since fucking _Europe._

And then, even though there’s not a single solitary part of him that wants to, he checks out of his hotel and boards the first plane back home.

 

Steve buys a place in the old neighborhood. Stark has insisted no less than seven times that the tower is still an option, but Bucky had said to go _home_ and nowhere has ever been home to Steve but Brooklyn. So, that’s where he goes.

Natasha shows up at the first apartment he looks at. She’s gotten herself a new, suspiciously perky cover that apparently wears perky cat eye glasses and puts her newly perky blonde hair in perky ponytails and dresses in perky floral sundresses. It’s all incredibly perky. She looks almost unbearably young, but when she loops her arm through Steve’s and follows the real estate agent into the building alongside Steve, it feels a little easier to breathe.

“I didn’t know you were back.” Steve says, taking in the bright white walls, the clean lines and the stainless steel appliances in the apartment while mostly ignoring the agent in front of them rattling on. He already knows he’s not getting this apartment, but Nat keeps making interested noises at the appropriate times for him.

“Europe got boring.” Nat says, her smile sharp and pure Natasha instead of whoever this cover is.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure that’s the reason you’re here.”

Steve’s real estate agent interrupts by turning back to them with an expectant look on her face, “Well, don’t you just love it?” She asks, just as chirpy and peppy as Nat’s new cover.

“Oh absolutely!” Natasha assures, practically bouncing on the toes of her bright yellow high heels. “It’s a beautiful place! Steve here was just looking for something- what was it you called it Stevie? Oh, right, a little more classic! Traditional! A little, old fashioned? Do you have anything pre-war?”

 

The next letter is found on move in day. It’s scribbled on the back of a receipt from a coffee shop in Williamsburg and tucked into the instructions for how to put together Steve’s IKEA shelving unit.

Steve abandons the shelf in favor of collapsing onto his brand new couch and taking in the slanted, cramped scrawl on the page.

_Stevie,_

_When I said ‘go home’ I don’t think I meant a few blocks from where we grew up. Though honestly, who the hell knows? My brain’s a little bit of a mess these days. Coming back here to make sure you weren’t wallowing brought all kinds of shit back._

_You remember the first time we kissed? God, we were what, 18? Your Ma had just died and I kept trying to convince you to come live with us but you were too much of a stubborn dumbass to listen to reason. I don’t know why I was so surprised by it, you’ve always been stubborn as hell._

_You remember it? I just got it back a couple days ago. You were- god, you were gorgeous. I’d thought you were fucking beautiful since we were a couple shithead kids. And you were so fucking_ _mad_ _at me you’d nearly given yourself an asthma attack. And then you just-_

_It was like getting hit by a goddamn train. Like you were trying to punch me but decided to use your face to do it instead._

_You mighta been treating it like you were starting a damn fight but it’s still the best first kiss I ever had sweetheart. I might not remember it all yet, but I damn well know that._

_Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone._

_Yours,_

_Bucky_

 

When Natasha lets herself into the apartment Steve’s still sitting there, reading and rereading Bucky’s words.

“How did you get a key?” Steve asks, his eyes fixed on Bucky asking if he remembered that first kiss. _Of course he does._ He wishes, not for the first time, that Bucky was here for Steve to actually respond to.

“You left your key laying around. It was practically begging to be borrowed and copied.” Natasha says like this is the kind of behavior she thinks is found in perfectly normal people. Which, who the hell knows with Natasha? Maybe it is. She joins Steve on the couch and proceeds to squeeze her way right into Steve’s space so that she can read the letter. “Love letters, Rogers? Y’know, despite the whole star crossed lovers thing I didn’t expect you two to be so damn romantic.”

“Why? Because we’re from the 40s?” Steve doesn’t mean for it to sound defensive, but people seem to have all these _assumptions_ just because of when Steve came from and the last person he wants to deal with that from is _Natasha._

“No, because you would literally rather jump out of a plane without a parachute than talk about your love life. Believe it or not, it’s possible people might make assumptions based on that kind of behavior.”

“Speaking of, do you see any planes around so that I can get out of this conversation?”

 

Steve comes home a week later to a pile of wet towels on his bathroom floor and a shower that’s still damp from use. He doesn’t contemplate pressing his face into the towels in an effort to catch even the barest whiff of Bucky. He _doesn’t._ He does however pluck up the letter that’s been folded into a paper airplane and set on top of the costco sized package of toilet paper.

_Stevie,_

_Did I tell you yet that I like your new place? I don’t think I did but time’s still a little slip slidey occasionally, so I don’t always remember right. Either way, this place is pretty fuckin fantastic. Your shower’s got the best water pressure I’ve felt in awhile, but two-in-one shampoo and conditioner? For shame Rogers,_ _for shame._

_I went and paid my respects for the guys. Saw Arlington and the setup they got down there for us. What’s with this ‘Howling Commandos’ bullshit? Is the 107th too nondescript for these people, they had to rebrand us after you and I went and kicked the bucket?_

_I guess ‘Buncha Crazy Motherfuckers’ didn’t flow as well._

_I got a thing coming up. It’s gonna take awhile, and I might not leave one of these again for a few months while I do it, so don’t_

_Don’t be all_ _Steve_ _about it okay? Don’t go haring off trying to find me because I’ve gotten you used to hearing from me. I promise I’ll be fucking fine, and that I’ll come back._

_I always come back don’t I? That seems to be the one damn thing that’s solid in this brain of mine. You’re mine and I’m yours and somehow we always throw ourselves right back at each other again._

_Yours,_

_Bucky_

 

Steve doesn’t get another letter for nearly six months. He tries not to think too hard about it as summer fades into fall and all the while he doesn’t stumble over anything. He tries not to wonder what Bucky’s doing, if he’s safe, if he’s fed, if he’s _okay._ He does however clean his apartment top to bottom, maybe, _possibly_ , hoping that he’ll find something he’s missed.

“Rogers,” Natasha says, perched atop Steve’s coffee table while Steve sweeps under the couch, “You’re not going to find anything.”

“Well that’s good, cause I’m not looking for anything.” Steve lies, ignoring Natasha’s vaguely judgemental look. Somehow even the bubble she blows with her gum looks judgy.

 

Natasha insists on Steve coming out with her Halloween night. He’s not, in her words, allowed to spend any holidays sitting in his apartment moping and yearning for his ‘absentee lover.’ Steve thinks that’s putting it just a little bit dramatically, but he’d had fun despite himself, so he can’t exactly judge her methods. Somehow being forced into a costume and dragged through a Trick or Treat bar crawl with a bunch of drunk 20 and 30somethings had turned out to be a lot of fun.

When he gets home he finds it.

Tucked into the grinning mouth of a ceramic skull that Nat had placed in a point of honor on his kitchen table is another letter.  

_My angel, my love, my own self --_

_That’s Beethoven by the way. Apparently you fell in love with one romantic motherfucker that my brain remembers fucking_ _Beethoven_ _when I’m writing these things to you._

_I miss you. I know that might be wrong to say when I’m the one keeping their distance, but dear god I’ve been missing you like I’d miss half my heart for the past 70 fucking years. More than I miss my own arm, I miss you and that’s fucking something isn’t it?_

_That was their mistake y’know? Putting me anywhere close to you was always gonna end in trouble for those sons of bitches._

_Because I_ _remembered_ _._

 _I knew you the moment I saw you on that bridge and then they wiped you away. Like they could ever wipe you out of me completely. You’re in my skin sweetheart, in these goddamn weary bones. The only part of me not touched by you was given to me by them, and still, they coulda broken me down to my barest parts and built me all over again and they never would have erased you from me. It’s the one thing they never learned to do, because they were fighting_ _you_ _and they never seemed to realize it._

 _They thought they were just fighting_ _me_ _but they never caught on to the fact that you’re more a part of me than anything else in this whole goddamn crazy world. They could throw me in the chair a million times over, put a million words into my head in an attempt to replace every one you’ve ever spoken in my ear, and they’d never get you out of me._

_Those fuckers could never quite comprehend the fact that you’re a goddamn stubborn bastard and once you sink those claws of yours into something you’re never letting go, and sweetheart you sank your claws into me a long, long time ago._

_God, I love you. I know now that I’ve said it a million times, a million ways, but it never feels like it’s been enough. You’ll have to say it to yourself for me while I’m gone, repeat the eternal fucking truth of this universe and every other one there might be out there. James Barnes loves Steve Rogers, and somehow, someway, he loves him back._

_A couple months. That’s all the time more I need honey, and then you’ll be able to bitch at me for all the waiting I’ve made you do._

_Yours,_

_Bucky_

 

It’s snowing when Steve leaves dinner with Nat on Christmas Eve. Large flakes drifting down slowly, leaving everything dusted in white and making Steve long for the warmth of his apartment before he’s even out the door of the restaurant.  

He’s never been particularly great with the cold, even before going into the ice, but in the time since it’s yet to stop making him feel just that little bit of tightness in the chest. It makes him pick up his pace home while he briefly contemplates spending winters in Arizona or somewhere like it, before quickly discarding the idea based on the simple fact that it’s not New York.

It’s a relief when he steps into the lobby of his building, but less so when he reaches his apartment and finds it freezing cold and drafty. All thoughts of the cold fade the moment he sees it though.

Sitting on the desk by the open window, stuck to the mug holding Steve’s paintbrushes is a post-it note.

 

_Sweetheart,_

_Look up._

 

Steve does, and there- standing on Steve’s fire escape, is Bucky.

He looks-

He looks good. _Healthy._ With red cheeks and a soft scarf and snowflakes gathering slowly in his hair.

“You gonna invite me in, or are you gonna stare at me all day?” Bucky asks and Steve realizes suddenly he hasn’t said anything yet, too caught up in the sight of Bucky in front of him after all this time.

“You’re an _asshole_ ,” Steve says, throat thick and feeling the tell tale burning behind his eyes that has him blinking rapidly. God, he’s _missed him._

“I know sweetheart.” Bucky says, and then he’s sliding in through Steve’s window, over the desk and tracking snow all over Steve’s clean floors and god, but Steve _does not care._ He can mop later. He can make _Bucky_ mop later.

“Were you waiting just out of sight so that you could make your dramatic entrance?” Steve asks, the words muffled because he’s gone and practically fallen into Bucky, his face pressed firmly into the damp wool of Bucky’s coat.

“What can I say? A guys gotta make an entrance after all this time.” Bucky’s left arm is solid and tight around Steve’s waist, his right hand warm and soft where it’s landed on the back of his neck, stroking at the short hairs there.

Steve is never, _ever_ leaving this spot. Bucky will have to spend the rest of his life carrying around a Steve shaped and sized tumor because that’s what he’s going to become.

“I bet you didn’t even just get here today. I bet you’ve been in New York for a week and were just waiting so that you could claim you were my Christmas present for the next fifty years. I know you Barnes.” Steve says because he needs to say something before he finally gets pulled into the enormity of Bucky there, Bucky _solid_ and _in his arms_ and ends up a goddamn wreck.

“Yeah, Rogers, you do. That’s never been up for debate.” Bucky says, and then Steve feels the press of lips against his temple and he’s done for.

“I missed you. You can’t- _I can’t-_ Don’t ever do that again.” Steve says- begs, really, hands fisted so tightly into the fabric of Bucky’s jacket that if he wasn’t so focused on _Bucky_ he might worry about tearing it.

“The dying or the leaving?” Bucky asks, light and clearly attempting what Steve is deeming a _very bad_ joke. “I won’t,” He adds, seeming to understand that Steve isn’t exactly amused, “I’ve got nothing left to do but be here with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come chill with me on [tumblr!](http://stevergrsno.tumblr.com/tagged/my-writing)


End file.
